L.

Part 2, Rome [1.] To Make Him Love Me

[Laurent, writing from America, 1960. Writing of childhood, for whom? Never delivered to intendee.]

There was a little boy holding up a mirror. As we passed in the cart, heading for the house, he held up the silver mirror and the light of the dawn reflected into our eyes. He turned it side to side, so that it glimmered, and the other boys looked away in disgust around me, but I looked at him, my little face propped up on the cart's wooden wall. He, himself, was average-looking, and small, brown haired with olive skin, and as the donkey pulled to a stop, he ran away with his piece of light.

My eyes followed him, distracted, and so I heard a sharp "Ho!" at me, because I had lingered behind the others. I was wearing only a white linen tunic, more a slip than proper clothing, but the fabric was very fine, and so I knew that I am meant to behave. As I came down the length of the cart, the wood was very rough on the soles of my feet, and I heard someone say, "Where are his shoes? Who has done this? Fess up and you'll have less of a punishment. Confess!"

Halfway from town, which to getting there itself had been a long journey for me, another boy had tackled me while the cart rolled, and pulled my shoes away, because they were nicer than his, and he knew as well as me what sort of impression he needed to make. But I had not fought against him. I did not care whether I came barefoot or covered in flowers or naked. I was six years old or so, and while we were moved to be sold, I ignored the others. 

It was very weird to me that we were moved in the dark, but I was not afraid of the dark.

Already then, I often daydreamed of the perfect man. See how this favorite pastime has been deprived of me by you? I cannot daydream anymore of "him", because he's you! And I know you, and have known you, and will know you. In the cart I had been daydreaming about you, which meant at that age, a pretty hand to hold. Long fingers, I liked. A mole or two, on the face, to count. "His" skin and eyes, I didn't know to think of yet. "His" kiss, and rough touch, well, I did not know about those things at six, and did not really know them until you taught me what they really are. See how cruel you are? You eat my blood, and my love, and you eat my dreams wholesale, and then you say, "Je suis occupe maintenant, mais pouvez-vous me telephoner... ahh...." I'm busy now, can you call me...? 

Are you always busy? Then I must make myself busy, too. There's no dignity otherwise. How completely depressing. 

I want to talk to you, my darling. That's all. We talk together so well. I have always been able to talk to you about anything. Forget my tone from before. I'm only a little sad, so I lashed out. I'm sorry, Pet. Let's get together soon and walk beside the water in the South of France, OK? Does it sound good? I'm making plans by myself.

Here's a thing you know. When I finally got down from the cart, a man put his hand on top of my head. Sweetheart... You know I hate that! Now I'm smiling, and you're not even here to laugh with me. I'll pretend.

What else happened. Oh, so this man with his hand on my head asked me what my name was, and I told him something, but I don't remember what I said, and he said that, "It wouldn't do," and to forget about my name, and I guess I have. It wasn't my original name anyway, so I don't care about that. This man, who was as pale and yellow as goat's milk gave me such a look. He pinched his face up at me when he saw the way that I walked, but at that age I was bowlegged, and because he looked at me like that, I decided to dislike him intensely. And so I did, and before you have sympathy for him, you ought to know that he deserved every ounce of a child's hatred. You'll find out.

It has taken a long time for me to remember a lot of these things clearly, and so a lot of it is as if it happened to someone else, but sometimes a memory of my childhood will come back to me with such force that I must stop everything that I am doing and go back to bed. Does that happen to you? I imagine that it does. We have such long lives. You have already lived a long time.